Human
by Mettemorphose
Summary: "Don't fool yourself, I've never been happy," The words flew out of her mouth and she physically lifted her hands to draw them back, but too late. A satisfactory look on Haymitch's face told her that this was exactly what he was looking for. A confession. * A take on Effie Trinket's thoughts on rebellion and Capitol life, multi chapter, touches of Hayffie, but mainly Caeffie *
1. Chapter 1

"You're making me feel like a prostitute, C," Effie whispered into the phone, while her hands touched the flowing fabric of the expensive black dress, which for _some reason_ had showed up on her doorstep this morning alongside a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, I think it's only fair, that I get to treat you a little," Caesar said with the always slightly arrogant voice and the upper class Capitol accent hanging so heavily in his speaking pattern that sometimes it was hard to imagine him even touching her with gloves on, much less have a romantic relationship to a simple escort for _twelve._

"I can't even afford to wear this anywhere,"

"Of course you can, E. On our little trip tomorrow, does it fit?" Effie knew exactly how he looked when he asked. Caesar _was_ very superficial and he wouldn't even blink while saying she looked too fat or too skinny in something. Just as he expected her to say whenever one of his teeth seemed a bit more yellow than the other or something, though she rarely had anything to say. She liked his honesty, but wished it to extend a little further than her physical appearance. It was good to have him, she liked him very much and cared a lot for him, though the relationship was pretty much doomed from the start, him being so much older, richer and reputed than her. They knew that, the both of them and none of them had even expected it to last this long.

"It fits perfectly. Why don't you come over here and see?" Effie tried being seductive, but it'd never worked for her. Caesar was easy though, but he never liked being in her apartment, so the chance of him actually coming over was pretty slim.

"Why don't _you_ put on a coat and get over _here_?" Caesar asked back. Resisting was hard, Effie wanted company for tonight, but the 30 minute trip in the cold wasn't really something to look forward to. She didn't own any means of transportation. She replied by not saying anything.

"Alright, I'll send you a car, darling," Caesar laughed and hung up. Shortly after a luxurious car beeped its horn at her from the outside of the shitty apartment complex where she lived.

* * *

"Remind me to have Yvette fix you a few wigs for the Games," Caesar took her arm and led her on to the temporary floor of the giant field, where the banquet they attended was held. The fake warmth radiating from it made the cold winter air seem like a lovely summer evening and the flowing black strapless dress, Caesar bought her was actually pretty warm. It was funny though. Caesar wouldn't touch her intimately in the Capitol garments. He wouldn't even kiss her intensively if she was wearing a wig. _You're a doll, E. I don't have sex with dolls, I have sex with women and I look at pretty dolls. I dress up pretty dolls. I play with pretty dolls, _he'd say to her and she never knew if she were to take it as a compliment or an insult.

"You two!" a woman shrieked loudly and made her way through a few dancing couples to get to them. Caesar was as always the star of the show, Effie stepped behind him a few steps, but the woman insisted on kissing them both on the cheeks and began talking obnoxiously loud about how _simply loooovely _they were as a couple. Effie did her best to smile and nod, but her patience with these kinds of women rarely lasted long. Caesar could go on for hours, though they still made fun of them when they were alone.

"When _are_ you going to get married, though? I bet _all_ of the Capitol, well all of _Panem, _really is _dying_ to see you in a wedding dress!" It took Effie a moment to realize that the lady who'd introduced herself as _Fleeeeuur, _was talking to her. And when she processed the words she blushed deeply and looked down, while Caesar stood generally stiff beside her for once he was, too, lost for words.

"We like to take it slow, miss," Effie said with only a slight shake to her voice. Marriage was out of the question for both of them. It was barely an official relationship yet and neither of them saw themselves sitting in a retirement home next to each other. At least that was what she thought they were mutually agreeing on until Caesar suddenly took the word:  
"Well, maybe it's about time I got around to it anyway," Effie watched her life in fastforward, like they describe you'll do when you're close to death. Only she did it as he elegantly put a knee in the wooden, heated floor and looked up at her. A challenge. Would she play yet another game with him?

People had proposed to her before, but not with this much sincerity. She'd of course said yes during the party and with his arm around her in the car on their way to his home, she regretted it, but there was no backing out now. Not unless she wanted to lose every last bit of reputation on the floor. For it would always be her fault, no matter what. The Capitol loved Caesar too much.

* * *

"I can't believe you'd do that," she said to him. To demand an explanation for a proposal probably wasn't the best way to start their lives as fiancées and the grin showing up on his face didn't calm her down either.

"Me neither. I guess I was just … In the mood, been thinking it over a few times E." He looked at her too see her reaction, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak and soft for him.

"You're a bastard. You could've warned me or something, given me a sign,"

"Then it would be _no_ fun for the paparazzi, now would it?" Caesar laughed. Their engagement was probably already being beamed through all sorts of communication devices all over the Capitol.

"If you'd asked me privately, I wouldn't have said yes,"

"I know, that's why I asked you … not privately," Caesar just smiled at her. The brilliant, dazzling smile almost competing with the fast moving lights outside from the streetlights.

"What is marriage to you?"

"Can't we talk about that another day?" Caesar squeezed her shoulder. Home. He expected her to come up with him and of course she did. No matter what, she was flattered, confused, but flattered. She never knew she meant this much to him. Well, she didn't even know yet, he might just be acting out some plan.

"Please wear this instead," Caesar threw a black shirt over to her. It wasn't hers and it certainly wasn't his. "I want to talk to the woman and not the doll, right now,"

"Which of them did you ask to marry you?" Effie snapped at him, taking the shirt and leaving to change. The wig had made her hair into a sweaty mess. The make-up had run a bit when she cried her fake tears of joy that were expected of a proper woman getting engaged to a proper man. She washed it of, left the dress on the floor – he didn't want her to use it again anyway – and joined him in the living room.

"You look so clean," he noted and kissed her deeply. His own make-up stayed on. Effie rarely saw him without it and the wig wasn't really a wig, just some wefts sewn into his own hair. She didn't mind. He looked more real than her anyway.

"No, Caesar, I will not marry you," she said and pulled back from the kiss.

"I know," he repeated.

"C. I can't just throw my life away like that, I want to live on my own, I want to be … Something else than just Effie Flickerman," The look in his eyes stopped her. She couldn't say anything more.

"E. I'm sick, alright, I know…" The interviewer who so often had the upper hand on his guests looked so small now that no one in their right mind would say anything to harm him. "I know I should have told you before, it's … Kind of bad, alright," He blinked. She knew he was blinking away tears instantly, though she'd never seen him cry for real. Sometimes he'd do it to enhance a dramatic twist on the stage, but never in front of her alone.

"Sick?" She too felt sick. To her stomach. She looked intensively at every part of his skin uncovered, was he a bit pale where the perfect make-up no longer covered, since he loosened the tie? She couldn't even begin to describe how accurately she suddenly heard his breathing and how over analysing she became listening to it skip a few ques and then return to normal.

"Or old, however you want to put it. I wasn't taking as good care of myself when I was younger, as you are," he said. He had a reputation of having been a party starter. Always drinking, throwing food back up, experimenting with a bit of everything. In his younger days. After he landed the job as host for the games – and only God above knew how he did that – he calmed down.

"Stop it, you have money, you can just …"

"No," he laughed a bit "I do have money. More than I can spend, but what I don't have is the time. If I get one thing fixed another will pop up. You know I don't like surgery, so…"

"How long?" Effie asked frightened to hear the answer.

"A few years, maybe 5, they said," Caesar replied and looked her straight in the eyes.

"What is it, really?"

"Liver, heart, lungs, all giving up. It's the drugs, alcohol, all that…" Caesar said.

"Transplants could give you…"

"I'm too old, Effie. I've lived a long life,"

"So you're marrying me to be married?"

He sighed and touched her cheek and let a finger follow her neatly plucked eyebrows.

"I don't want you to fade away when I do, I want you to be able to be fully in my will,"

"Caesar, please…" Effie could feel the tears forming in her eyes as he touched her.

"Look at you," He laughed again, "and I said we weren't going to talk about marriage. You always get your way, don't you?" Being this sweet wasn't his usual self and it made her a bit uncomfortable.

"You expect me to … " She shook her head.

"Effie Trinket, will you marry me?" he asked and let his hand rest on her cheek, wiping away any escaped tears with his thumb.

"Yes. Okay, Caesar, okay, I'm sorry…" she said all confused.

"Lovely, thank you,"


	2. Chapter 2

Being in a wedding dress was not as fabulous as she expected. Especially with the live coverage of their wedding. It had to be big. The face of the Hunger Games couldn't just get married in private. The cameras zoomed to her face as she entered the cathedral. She smiled, though it was only for the public. She didn't enjoy the attention in the same way Caesar did. He looked good. As always. It seemed like a lifetime ago when they'd cried together after his second proposal. Tears were making their way down his face now too and she was honestly unsure if they were real. The ceremony was broadcasted to the entire Capitol, so they were probably fake.

After endless wishes of a long and happy life together, Effie barely held it together. She didn't know if she loved Caesar, but getting reminded of his eminent death every two seconds didn't exactly make her happy. She was good at faking smiles though. She did it through every sitting meal with her tributes, who rarely ate properly and she did it while they died in front of her on the screen. The night grew darker and darker, but the party didn't stop. Effie was too reserved to dance wildly amongst the crowd, so she kept to the group of people sitting casually talking. Caesar was somewhere in the other end of the giant hall where the reception was held.

"Mrs Flickerman," The words echoed inside her and fell to the bottom of her soul. She didn't mind name changes, Trinket had never been her own name anyway, but as a public personality _Hansson _just didn't sound that great. Flickerman would be better for her reputation. But it still sounded weird, that this was her. Surreal.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony, I have such a busy schedule, but _you_ of all people _must_ understand keeping to it," The president continued.

"Are you flirting with my wife Coriolanus?" Caesar's joyful voice sounded from behind. Effie never liked the president personally, respected his work though. She had often enough sat through dinner parties at his mansion as Caesar's plus one and wished to be a different place, where the fate of Panem wasn't decided after a few bottles of wine. His hand crept to her waist and she felt him curiously play with some of the beading. Snow and Caesar shook hands. Caesar never spoke badly of Snow, but sometimes there were just that slight fade in his smile, that you only saw if you were entirely focused on only the lips of the man with the ever changing hair colours.

"Aah, Caesar, I swear, if you hadn't gotten to her first! Congratulations," Effie closed her eyes, the fake lashes touching her cheeks. They itched on her eyelids, probably from the glue becoming loose.

"Thank you," Caesar replied and subconsciously pulled Effie closer to him.

"Going on a honeymoon anywhere?"

"Well, E and I are thinking Poison Paradise, but it'll have to wait until after these Games, we're both too busy," Caesar said politely.

* * *

"I swear if that man doesn't stop bugging me, I might have to turn into a killer myself," Effie hissed into the phone from the trainingcentre while the drunken mentor from 12 was doing some sort of spectacular show with a glass of wine.

"Easy does it E, he is a victor after all," Caesar said calmly in the other end.

"Maybe he _was_ a victor, now he's just … ugh,"

"Meet me in the make-up room before the interviews will you?" he asked her. She said yes, not knowing what else to do. Getting used to the married life hadn't been easy. Adjusting to living with Caesar all the time and his weird rules about the barrier between _woman _and _doll, _which she never really took that serious but now had to realize meant almost everything to him. He treated her very contrasting, pouring out his emotions to her when she wasn't wearing a Capitol get up and barely touching her when she was _a doll._

"Hoping he'll _get killed_ so you can inherit his money, sweetheart?" Haymitch asked from across the room after she hung up the phone with a violent motion. She felt a slight guilt form in her stomach, she hadn't calculated that Haymitch was sober enough to listen to her conversation.

"Shut up, Haymitch," she said without even thinking about it. Ironically for someone working with the Games the thought of death sickened her. She was scared each night when she went to sleep that she would wake up beside a corpse. What was she to do the day it happened?

"Then why did you marry him, if it wasn't for the money?" Haymitch abruptly continued his questions.

"Ever heard of _love_, Mr Abernathy?" she snapped at him, trying to refrain from crying. Why was she so emotional? There was no one forcing her to explain herself to Haymitch, he wouldn't even remember this when he woke up.

"Yeah, princess, and what you two have ain't love," he grumbled and walked out of the room, losing interest in the conversation, but ultimately leaving Effie alone with her thoughts. Love. In the Capitol, love was cheap. It could be bought for nothing but a few secrets or a favour, love was a currency, but often not a very powerful one. But yes, Caesar probably loved her, just as he loved thousands of other people. Maybe a bit more, since he chose her to be his wife, but it wasn't something she thought of often. She just accepted it. Loving Caesar was easy. She did it with caution, for she was afraid of what might happen if she fell too deep.

* * *

An avox stood outside the room, where Caesar got his make-up done. A sign on the door proclaimed it was his and only his dressing room. He wanted things to be perfect.

"I have an … appointment with Mr Flickerman, please open the door," she said to the avox who quickly and of course silently fulfilled her wish.

"E," Caesar said and gave her a thorough look. His eyes made her self-conscious and her hands automatically began correcting all the tiny or non-existent flaws, the invisible wrinkle in the bright purple fabric of her dress or the wig sliding of her head in her mind.

"What did you want?" she asked. They didn't see each other much while the games where on. He had his hosting, commentary and parties to attend. She had Haymitch's vomit to wipe up and sponsors to flatter.

"I missed you, is that a crime?"

"Blue suits your face," Effie said blushing from his compliment.

"I have an hour. Take of your wig,"

"I can't, C, I can't just…" He stood in front of her only carried by two large steps.

"Get out of the heels," She felt tiny as she followed his command and suddenly only reached just below his shoulder.

"That's better," he stroked the wig for a second before gently tugging it of.

"When you grow old, promise me you'll grow old as a woman and not a doll, not like me," he said with a sadness that made Effie revaluate everything she thought she knew about his superficiality. She was too stunned to speak. No matter how much she wanted to stand up for herself against his weird ways, he could still melt her heart with words and smiles and just the right amount of sarcastic remarks.

"You're not old," she chirped out with a low voice.

"No, that's exactly it. I grew old as a doll and look at me now,"

"C you…"

He guided her to his chair and looked at her in the lightbulb surrounded mirror. He then took one of the surely expensive jars of something and gently began rubbing her face with its contents. Her make-up disappeared like by magic. He didn't even have to use cotton balls or anything, it just kind of evaporated.

"Look at you. You're lucky you're so beautiful underneath all of that. Women rarely are these days,"

"Caesar,"

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?" Silence. His eyes no longer met hers through the mirror, but his hands never left her shoulders or cheeks as he absentmindedly touched her, while thinking. He'd picked up a brush to brush through her messy hair, before he replied:

"Yes E. Yes I do," She shook her head at his words and suddenly the tears she'd been holding in sprung fresh to her eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked sounding genuinely worried.

"Do you love me? As in _love_ me? Not just because I'm here, but because …"

"Why on earth would I marry you…"

"Don't lie to me, don't change your story. Would you have married me if you weren't sick?"

His movements stopped.

"Would you have said yes?"

* * *

She was somewhat happy the Games were on. That way she didn't have to experience much of the awkward tension created between her and Caesar since their conversation in his make-up room, which had ended in way too intense arguments and way too messy kisses. She didn't know what to think of it. Now all she had to do was focus on her job, getting Haymitch downstairs every morning, pushing around tributes like they were pieces in a game of chess. To training, to photo sessions, to fittings for arena outfits, to signing documents. Between all of that and more there was no time to worry about anything else. Haymitch loved to bring it up, though, but she quickly put up the same wall as when he began making remarks about how much he hated her and everything she stood for. Sometimes they hit and she became insecure for a moment.

As the games heated up she couldn't believe what she was seeing on the screen. 12 making a hell of a run for it. Seneca changing the rules – temporarily of course – but they actually stood a chance. One of them anyway. Haymitch and her began betting against each other on which of them would survive. Grim, she knew, but it made the thought of death seem less frightening. Effie bet on Peeta. They never did it with money for between them the right to mock the other one would be way more valuable than any sum of money. She hated him, but he did take her mind of Caesar.

Cinna took her hand as the noose creaked and the gamemaker drew his last breath, his body still shaking with spasms. Effie wept. The small group of people, including her, Cinna and Portia plus the rest of the gamemaker team were the only ones present at the execution. It was mandatory. It was a warning to the people who stood by and watched one man rebel against the most hardcore rule of the game. They'd upset the Capitol. One man had to pay.

"Was it bad?" Caesar asked when she'd whispered to him, what she'd witnessed. They weren't supposed to talk about it. Seneca had officially died of natural causes, but it was like hiding the scent of vomit with cheap airfreshener, the stench reeked out no matter what. Soon it would be something everybody knew, but no one talked about.

Effie shook her head. He stroked her back and it calmed her down for a bit.

"It's okay. I guess… I guess we just have to be more careful,"

"They wouldn't hurt _you, _E, they wouldn't…"

"I don't want Cinna to die either. Or Haymitch for that matter," Caesar laughed a bit at her addition. Haymitch being a living joke.

"No more people are going to die, E. Seneca had it coming for him, you're not going to do anything stupid like that, you don't even have the power to do anything that spectacularly stupid,"

She sighed and turned her face away from him. The Victory tour preparations began tomorrow and she had to travel to district 12 and then through every district with her winning tributes.

"It's fake," she said.

"What is?"

"Their love, Everdeen and Mellark, it's fake. At least from her side it is,"

"I know,"

"How?" Effie asked surprised.

"I know how a woman looks when she's in love," Caesar replied not looking at her, but still absently stroking her back.


	3. Chapter 3

Her hand left a red impression on the drunks left cheek and she seemed to be as surprised as he was, that she suddenly turned so violent.

"Wow, princess, didn't think you had it in you, finally got to you didn't I?" Haymitch said and laughed it off as if she'd done nothing but poked his side. She couldn't figure out what words to say, so she just sat there looking sad and miserable until he said something again.

"I'm just saying what I'm thinking, sweetheart,"

"Well, your thoughts are obviously deceiving you, Haymitch, so please mind your own business,"

This whole ordeal happened in front of Peeta and Katniss silently sitting in front of them on the train between district 1 and the Capitol. The whole tour had been a nightmare, Haymitch being on her back the entire time. She figured it was partly because of Seneca's death and the fact that she never thought of telling him about it, before the rumour reached him. He wasn't nagging on her because of _that_ though. It was the Capitol, her marriage and her – in his words – _supposed love. _It was her personality, her manners, her everything. The thing that made her click was him asking whether she looked forward to Caesar kicking the bucket, so she could afford some shoes she was talking to Portia about. He knew nothing about Caesar's illnesses and the fact that time flew by and while she was here, he was slowly dying back in the luxurious Capitol.

"God you must be good in bed, if that old geezer wants to hear your voice everyday,"

The next slap in his face made him whimper and Effie was out of the room before he even raised his hand to inspect it. Behind her she could hear Peeta scolding Haymitch. She could almost _hear_ Haymitch not caring as well.

* * *

"Listen, Effs. I ain't trying to make you sad or angry, well, I am, but… You need to see what we see," Haymitch said after getting pushed into Effie's room by Peeta, who had clearly instructed the older man to apologize.

"Who is _we, _Haymitch?" she asked without turning around. Her make-up was gone and she didn't want him to see. She reserved that look for Caesar and no one else. Even Caesar had to wait an entire year until she was comfortable showing him her face. And he'd begged.

"We: The people who care about you,"

"You're obviously drunk, please go away," Effie said not showing her surprise at his reply, but pulling her cardigan closer around her.

"Yeah, you're probably right, but I want to tell you something. And I can't do it right now,"

"What?"

"I swear sometimes I think they carved your brains out to replace them with a wig, I said I couldn't tell you right now," Haymitch rolled his eyes and took a sip of something, she could hear him gurgling and almost feel the stench of alcohol. She enjoyed a quiet glass of good wine with Caesar during meals at home, but during the games she barely ate or drank at all, so the smell of alcohol made her stomach churn.

"Do you have _anything_ to say _right now?"_ Effie asked still with her back turned to him.

"Could you look at me, when I'm apologizing to you?" he said with a bitter voice.

"No, but your apology is accepted, now go away," she said and pulled the cardigan even closer, though it was already so tight to her body it didn't give her any warmth. He did as she asked, but made sure to slam the door behind him and talk obnoxiously loud to himself on the way down the hall, describing each and every single of the things about her appearance that he didn't like. Long list.

* * *

Caesar laughed at her for a really long time and she grew redder from the embarrassment. The whole scene with her hitting Haymitch seemed comical now that it was so far behind them.

"Let me help you with that," Caesar said still laughing slightly. He got up and closed the zipper on the dress Cinna had made her for the Victory Ball. It complimented Caesars lavender theme for the year, but not really her skin, making her look pale and sick. She waited for him to say the same thing, but he never did. He just sat there, looking not entirely at her and not entirely at something else.

"Thank you for sticking up for yourself though, you shouldn't let him drive you around,"

"I wasn't sticking up for _myself_," she said with an empty voice, before she forced her wavy, blonde hair under a wig cap. He stopped her after this and kissed her deeply. It surprised her so much she let the wig fall to the floor and just stood stiff as a board. He never kissed her this way with make-up on. Not even at their wedding had he kissed her. It was limited to small pecks on the lips. When he was satisfied he just stood there for a long while, embracing her and for a moment she thought he'd fainted or fell asleep, he stood so still. The silence became tense and she felt as if it was her turn to say something, but for the love of everything she held dear, she wouldn't know exactly _what_ to say. There was some sort of surrender in what he just did. He kissed the _doll_. What he'd probably wanted to do for a long time was now a reality and he'd realized that it was – in fact – not what he'd imagined. There was only a striving for perfection on the outside. The inside was the same mess, he knew from the _woman._

"I'm happy I found you," he said and let her go. He left their dressing room and let her deal with the smudged lipstick and the wig, now ratty from lying on the floor. She opted for another wig, which luckily made her skin look a bit better than the pale purple dress did. Her movements where mechanical and stiff, her thoughts not entirely following her body. When she was ready she found him sitting in the couch in the living area like nothing happened.

"Finally," he teased her, "I thought you'd never come out of there," She shook her head at him and took the hand he offered her.

"Oh, don't give me that, you spend more time than me getting ready, when you're not ruining my make-up," she snapped back at him, stepping into the powder blue heels, that matched the wig.

* * *

The banquet was held within Snow's mansion. Effie was surprised to see how easily she actually found her way around the large building. She'd been here one too many times at boring dinner parties, where it'd often end up with her and Caesar sneaking off to explore. They both had a thing for adventure and when you lived in a place like the Capitol, where a wall barred you off from the world around you, they took the chance whenever they could. It wasn't a day for adventure today, though. It seemed there was double the security. Her appetite wasn't really there, but Caesar seemed to want to eat everything, hungry as usual, so she just kind of broke of from him and went to talk with some of the high heeled ladies she knew. They didn't interest her much, until one of them looked at her shoes and discreetly mumbled: "That drunk is staring at you," and Effie almost cracked her neck looking back to see Haymitch standing behind a table half involved in a conversation, but not looking at his partners at all. Staring was a pretty good description of what he was doing and when she caught him, he raised his glass with a smirk and turned his head. She shook hers and looked around the room to locate Caesar. Something was going down tonight and she wasn't sure if she was part of it or not, but Haymitch obviously had something on his mind including her.

"Plutarch, I'm sorry I can't walk as fast in these – Haymitch? What is going on?" She'd been here before. A guest bedroom. She remembered the green soft carpet, where … stuff … had happened.

"What place is more safe to talk than the enemy's house?"

"Right you are Abernathy,"

"I know, Plut, I'm not as stupid as she looks," He pointed to Effie, who stood confused with her heels making dents in the green carpet.

"Listen sweetie, we have a proposal for you, but first you gotta promise to keep that pretty little mouth shut, especially to your … _husband,"_ he spat out the last word, like was it venom on his lips.

"Proposal? Plutarch gently patted Effie's shoulder and mumbled something to Haymitch about shutting up.

"There's been talking in the corners, miss Trinket-"

"Flickerman," Effie insisted, still not really caring about what these two crazy men were on about, "Mrs Flickerman," She shot Haymitch a look. For once something seemed to really overthrow him.

"Rebellion." Haymitch said in a whisper, which was barely audible over the blasting music from the party down the hall. Effie's throat felt dry and for a moment she felt like her breath was sandpaper, until her tongue loosened up and she hacked out the words "What do you mean?" with big difficulty.

"Listen, _Mrs Flickerman,_ the Games have never been fair. The man who owns this house has never been fair. We need to do something. Everdeen is a symbol of that something. On fire, even the Capitol feels it,"

"Of course we felt it, Mr Heavensbee," Effie said to him, dry throats aside, still in her angry voice: "Seneca got hung for what he did,"

"You were at his execution, you _saw_ what they, no _we_ – the Capitol – did to him," Plutarch continued.

"You've been to the districts, princess, you know how some of us live," Haymitch chimed in, his 'princess' not as sarcastic as usually.

"Well, I never did like any of this. It's good entertainment for sure, but –"

"You can help. We need you, Effie," Plutarch said, losing the formalities.

"In a rebellion? Do I _look_ suicidal?" she asked in an intense whisper.

"I don't know what you look like," Haymitch said and snorted at his own lame joke.

"Don't you want to help Katniss and Peeta?" Plutarch asked.

"Well, of course I do and through my job as escort I do whatever is in my power to make sure their last days before the arena glides as smoothly as possible,"

"What if we gave you more power? What if we gave you the power to save them?" Plutarch insisted.

"How many people are we talking?" Effie blurted out without wanting to sound too interested.

"I can't say. We don't have a real number yet. Most of the outer district-tributes though,"

For a short while Effie thought of her options. They were pretty open if you looked at them theoretically. She could go out of this room and never mention anything about a rebellion to anyone and not partake in it herself, if it came. Would that be safe? Probably not. She could cry bloody murder and snitch out Haymitch and Plutarch and have them executed. She would be honoured that way. That wasn't an option though, because no matter how much she despised the drunk mentor, she wouldn't be his cause of death. He had to figure out that on his own. Then there was the third option. The dangerous one. She could join in. She could say yes and help Haymitch and Plutarch to do whatever job they had for her in the rebellion. That was why she'd asked about the number of people. If the Capitol was overthrown, she – and she knew this with a bitter taste in her mouth – would be one of the first to _mysteriously _die and with good reason. She'd reaped and led the district 12 people to slaughter for several years, not showing a single notion of regret or sadness. She rubbed her arm absentmindedly while thinking and Plutarch let out a sigh.

"No one is forcing you, Mrs Flickerman,"

Caesar. Where would he be in all this? Dead. Dead. Dead. The bell in her head tolled. Dead as a stone. He would be anyway with the fast forward progressing illness. What would he want her to do? The question was harder to answer than she thought. She had a feeling that there was something a little off underneath all the plastic surgeries in Caesar. Something that wanted that spark to start a fire. She'd always just dedicated that to his dislike of the president and the man's _loose_ way with the women around him, but maybe.

"What happens?"

"Can we trust you?" Plutarch stared deep into her eyes.

"Otherwise I'll take pleasure in killing her myself," Haymitch replied for her.

"We go to 13, don't ask more, okay?" Plutarch said.

"And the citizens of the Capitol?"

"Are still citizens here. I don't think it'll change much for the one you're thinking about,"

"What are your purpose?"

"Killing Snow. Taking over. Bringing some fair game back," Haymitch explained.

"And if you go through with it?" she asked. Caesar. Literally the only thing on her mind right now. He'd protected her and cared for her during the last. Well, four years. She wasn't about to just… Run off with district 12. To what 13? There was no 13. Only radioactive rubble lying in a pile of dust. She figured they meant they wanted to rebuild the place, but then again she didn't know much about radioactivity.

"I'm going to have to go back to the party, people will notice I'm gone. Haymitch knows as much as I do," Plutarch said and she had to supress wanting to ask him to not leave her alone in a bedroom with the guy who progressively had become more violent and careless as she'd seen him fade away over the years. She could take Haymitch on the train, so she could take him here.

"Truth for a truth," Haymitch said and looked at her as Plutarch left the room to re-enter the party. She knew what he meant, why he wouldn't just let it go, that was what puzzled and amused her at the same time.

"Yes, economical reasons, but not in the way you think. Caesar has been my financial support for many years. Escorting isn't really as well-paid as one would think," Effie said with a sigh. She was still overwhelmed by information, by the sudden kidnapping and now standing here alone with Haymitch made her heart pound faster. Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of excitement for a new world lying at her feet.

"Why did you marry him then?" The question was designed to irritate her to tell the truth, Haymitch –whether she liked it or not – knew which buttons to push to get her to spill it.

"He's sick, Abernathy, he's going to die,"

"So you married him out of pity?" There was no sympathy in his voice as he talked.

"No!" She thought about it. The exact reason as to _why_ she said yes to him had never occurred to her. It'd always been some sort of natural thing. She had to, though she didn't exactly want to at the time.

"Guilt?" Haymitch asked.

"Why are you so interested?" she asked. Haymitch let out a burp and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Disgusting.

"I don't know, princess, because you're crying in your sleep and torturing us all with your constant PMS, you used to do that before as well, but when you married him, you started screaming at night, sometimes we had to wake you up to get you to stop. You don't remember _anything_ do you?"

She was left silenced by his words. Screaming? For what? She usually didn't have nightmares during the Games, she was far too tired.

"This job is very stressful, Haymitch, I'm sure you've noticed that,"

"It seems your marriage is stressful too,"

"We're adjusting, we've been married for half a year,"

"You're not happy,"

"Don't fool yourself, I've never been happy," The words flew out of her mouth and she physically lifted her hands to draw them back, but too late. A satisfactory look on Haymitch's face told her that this was exactly what he was looking for. A confession.

"I suggest you go back to the party a few minutes before I do," Haymitch said as nonchalant as the alcohol in his system would allow him to.

"Haymitch, I'm sorry for hitting you. And for … _this_," she tried, but the mentor remained his old bitter self.

"Thank you," she finally said before going for the door, "for putting up with… _that_,"

_We: The people who care about you, _he'd said to her on the train ultimately including himself in that group of people. She couldn't shake it. Not long after she re-entered the party, she felt Caesar's hand around her waist.

"Where've you-been?" he said in one flowing word with a dangerous connotation.

"Out. I just. I don't like these sort of parties,"

"Don't go away without me, people ask," he warned her. He was mad, but his anger was quickly covered up by his overprotective feelings, when Haymitch stumbled into the room and celebrated his re-arrival by smacking his face in the floor right in front of them. Caesar pulled Effie away, but she twisted herself out of his iron grip.

"I have to take care of this. There's TV here," she mumbled to him. If he had any idea what Haymitch and her just talked about he might have understood, but now he just stood there, with open hands looking perplexed and brimming with still smouldering anger.


	4. Chapter 4

"Don't choose him over me, E! I'm not going to stand there in public and see you confirm the rumours," Caesar yelled at her, when she finally returned that night. She was exhausted. Haymitch had become quite violent and vulgar when she'd gotten him from the cab and into the training centre, where he could spend the night – or at least some of it until she had to hurry him along. The Victory Tour wasn't over.

"C, I'm not choosing any- Rumours? What are you talking about?"

"Look, I know I might not be the most exotic personality and I certainly don't…"

"What rumours, Caesar?" she cut him off.

"You and that drunk,"

"Haymitch?"

"Yes, … Half the city is dawning over your imperfect love. Which is reflecting on me, making me look like the old pig and you looking like a freedom fighter,"

"You seriously think I'd …"

"It doesn't matter what I think! It matters what _they_ think," Caesar pointed to the big panorama window of the city, where the lights showed that the Victory party had taken to the streets. Celebrating another engagement, eating the fake emotions between Katniss and Peeta raw. She didn't understand a thing.

"Caesar, you know I wouldn't…" Effie sounded hurt. Well, she was hurt.

"Of course I do, E," Caesar said and sat down with a resigned look on his face. His hand placed itself on his chest.

"My job is to take care of the tributes along with their mentor. In Haymitch's case, he couldn't even take care of a pair of stupid geese if he wanted to, so I have to take care of him too, for all these years he's been all the children had. There are no other victors, not until now. And they changed the quell to kill them,"

"Effie!" Caesar looked at her with fright, as she uttered words, not suitable for any ears.

"That… That's just what I think," She realized she'd spoken too much. She regretted it, but somewhere inside her something clicked. She couldn't stay here. Katniss and Peeta: They'd won, it wasn't fair for them to go back in. Haymitch, he'd killed twice the amount of children than anyone else. They had to live with it – for what? For sport. And if they rebelled now, she would be one of the bad guys.

"You better save those thoughts as only thoughts. Remember when we talked about you not having the power to do anything exceptionally stupid?" Caesar warned her and he suddenly looked as if someone was poking him with burning iron, his face grimaced by pain.

"C! Are you okay?" Effie asked, quick to be at his side.

"Yeah, just … Just give me a minute," he asked "and a glass of water would be great,"

She got up and walked slowly to the kitchen. She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, they shouldn't be fighting. His heart couldn't bear the excitement. What would happen to him if she left him?

"Where were you?" he called from the other room, as she walked back, "At the party, when you disappeared?"

What was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell him about the revolution, it would be too risky. And she didn't doubt Haymitch wasn't kidding with the death threats.

"I was … With-"

"Haymitch?"

"No,"

"Don't lie to me,"

"Alright yes, but not doing whatever you think,"

"Then what?"

"The guy was drunk as hell, he wandered off. His actions are my responsibility, I'm not going to just let him vomit all over Snow's mansion, no matter how much I wanted to myself,"

"Again with those thoughts, E," He didn't believe her for a second, but he let her off. She felt bad lying to him, but there was no way she could get Plutarch and Haymitch to trust a man so involved with the games. Neither would she if she was a part of the rebellion.

"Sorry, here's your water," She put down the crystal glass in front of him, thinking about nothing than the rough edged clay cups at Haymitch's house in Victor's Village, which she'd so often filled with water to nurse him back to life after a hangover. She was disgusted with herself and Caesar. They lived so extravagantly in a penthouse apartment high above the city. There was avoxes assigned to do everything for them and none of them ever had to even _touch _dirty dishes or laundry. The sunken faces of the district children, starving without end were echoed in everything they ate, every bit of food they threw away.

* * *

She'd never ever _wanted_ to talk to Haymitch before, but after bidding her husband a good night she left their apartment to check on him. Mentioning his name to Caesar was beginning to seem like cutting the fuse on a giant bomb shorter.

"What then, princess, couldn't sleep on your silk sheets?" Once again he didn't really get all the bitterness he wanted into his voice, so it actually could sound sweet, if it wasn't coming from him.

"Be honest with me, Haymitch: What would happen to people like Caesar and I, when this thing, you're planning happens?" She said without even flinching at his comment. She realized she'd been crying and probably looked like a mess.

"You die," Haymitch said like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Oh well, maybe not _him, _but you do. People from 12 recognize you. Flickerman is sometimes spoken of positively since he's good at getting our tributes to look great,"

"So Caesar's safe?"

"Not if he's as ill as you say he is,"

"Beside that?"

"My best guess would be yes. Our goal is not to kill anybody from here, but casualties and hatred is always factors,"

"If I join you?"

"You are?"

"_If?"_

"Then I'd personally make sure no one touches one plastic hair from your wig," Haymitch promised, suddenly speaking with a passion she hadn't heard him express before.

"Now why don't you tell me, why you look like that?" he added.

"Marriage isn't a piece of cake," she replied grimly and echoed the usual bitterness in his voice.

"I guess not, when it's with you," he sighed and refilled his glass, thereafter he looked at her for a moment, before he took a second glass from the tray and poured her half a drink. Initially she shook her head, saying no to it, but not long after where wasn't much left of the bottle, split between them. Haymitch opened a second one, but Effie was already so drunk she could barely hold the glass still.

"I have … No … Idea why I married him, Haymitch," she said with some trouble.

"Me neither, princess," Haymitch replied laughing at her condition.

"I mean. I was expected to. Everybody expected me to marry him, and now … Now everybody expects me to leave him and stay with _you,_"

"Wow, hold that one. I didn't get the memo,"

"Me neither,"

"Ha, you. You're way below my standard," Haymitch mocked her and filled her glass again.

"I know," Effie took the verbal blow like an already crippled puppy, just slightly contracting in her haze of liquor. He could have hit her with brute force and she wouldn't care.

"I dare you. To take that wig off," Haymitch suddenly said.

"No," Effie replied. Even drunk her insecurity and pride wouldn't leave her alone.

"Do it,"

"You sound like him,"

"Then you should do as your husband asks of you," he said in a fake Capitol accent.

"Shut up," she said in her best Haymitch-voice, the alcohol aiding to the authentic value of the impression.

"I'll take off my wig, if you tell me the story of your quell," she said with what was meant to have been a challenging voice, but in reality it was more like a sad mix of way too cliché adult film speak and a teacher testing students in a pop quiz.

"You need to take of more than your wig to hear that story," Haymitch replied.

* * *

"Get up. Get up! Trinket, get the fuck out of my bed," Haymitch voice was panicking and she opened her eyes, groggy to the morning and stared at him for a while, without realizing where she lied.

"What. Happened?" he asked breathing deeply between each word.

"I-"

"Wait. No, don't tell me anything,"

"I have a headache,"

"You _are_ a headache,"

"Haymitch, shut up," Effie said and rubbed her temples. She couldn't remember ever having been so hangover as she was now.

"You can shut your pretty face as well, Trinket,"

"Flickerman,"

"I thought we sorted that out last night,"

"You don't remember last night, Haymitch,"

"Neither do you,"

"And I'm grateful," She looked at her watch. They had plenty of time, which was worse than no time. She would have loved to be able to tell him to hurry up and get dressed so the awkward silence slowly

"Can I say something… Before we go back to that… _relationship _we usually have?" he asked. She nodded.

"You should wear your own hair more often. And less make-up suits your face. Now, done," Haymitch made her blush red with embarrassment and it didn't take long for her to jump out of the bed, do the walk of shame to the bathroom, pulling the covers from the bed tightly around her, but still seeing the mentor's eyes follow her every move.

"Take a compliment, princess," he yelled after her, when she'd closed the bathroom door. The mirror showed her something horrifying. She rarely saw herself without make-up and wigs. It was only when Caesar forced her to take it off and look at herself she did it. She could do make-up blind and preferred never to see her own face. It was much too depressing. Humiliating even, now that Haymitch had won one other thing to tease her with. Her blue eyes stared back at her and not long after she ended up vomiting the small meal she'd eaten last night up. Her throat hurt like crazy and she felt so nauseated, that for a moment she felt as if she was going to faint. It never happened though. She dried up, washed off and then went back to looking in the mirror. Haymitch was still half-yelling half mumbling stuff outside the room and his words mixed up with her thoughts. What _did_ happen last night? Well, it wasn't very hard to guess, since they woke up in the same bed. Did he remember anything? She didn't really. _You should wear your own hair more often._ Effie laughed at her reflection, while she brushed the blonde hair. Luckily she had everything in the bathroom here. The servants made sure of that. She could look like herself in no time. Except she didn't know where her wig went.

* * *

"Caesar, I'm so sorry. I was so exhausted from everything that I just fell asleep here," She waited for his reply from the other end of the line, but it was dead silent.

"We didn't do _anything,_ C, I swear to God, please don't believe all those nasty rumours," The lies heated her face up.

"Rumours, Effie. You shouldn't _feed_ the rumours. Come home so we can talk about this,"

"I'm not coming home, C, we have to go to 12, the train leaves in less than 2 hours,"

Haymitch looked at her, like she was an interesting piece of artwork in a gallery, best observed passively and silently.

"You better have a really good explanation ready when you get home, young lady,"

"Don't call me that, I'm not your teenage daughter!" Effie whimpered. Haymitch involuntarily jolted with the glass in his hand.

"I call you whatever I want, you're my wife, damn it, you should try to act like one, sometimes. You _whore_!"

Effie slammed the phone down onto its holder. She was shaking with repressed tears. _Whore._ The word resonated in her mind, coming back with even more power than before. _Prostitute._ She looked at Haymitch and suddenly felt the urge to hit him. To beat him up, until his face was nothing but a bloody mess, like they sometimes saw during the Games. He must have seen it in her face, for he quickly grabbed a knife from underneath the pillow.

"I ain't to blame in this, sweetheart," he said looking directly at her. She fell apart. It wasn't pretty and she had no intention of showing this to Haymitch.

"What exactly are you going to do with that knife?" she asked.

"I don't know, I'm still contemplating my options here,"

"Then stab me and see what happens," she heard herself say. Haymitch got up, still holding the knife, though less aware now.

"What did he say to you?" he asked and came closer.

"Told me to come home, start acting like a wife. He called me a whore," Effie didn't know why she could lie so easily to Caesar and still feel crumbled when Haymitch asked her questions.

"Well, from his point of view, you _are _a whore," Haymitch said without much encouragement.

"And from _your_ point of view?" Effie asked.

"Why do you care?"

"Tell me,"

"You're an unhappy woman, who should never have married the first and best guy to ask her out on a date. You think you love him and try to force yourself to believe it, but the sad fact is that you're not even _in love _with him anymore. And I think he knows,"

His words hit hard, but it felt good. It felt good to have the stone lifted from her heart.

"You're still afraid of losing him though. Because you have no fucking idea about who you would be without him controlling your life. You are so naïve, you can barely function,"

She closed her eyes, her hangover still clouding her mind.

"I'm sorry about everything, Haymitch," she said.

"Let's keep it as a memory and nothing more, what do you say?"

"I want to join your side,"

"I never thought otherwise," Haymitch commented with a smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

The dinner in twelve went well. It was like there was an invisible contract between Effie and Haymitch to not fuck more shit up, before they started working on the rebellion for real. There was no use spreading any more rumours. There was no use in trying to explain themselves further. She blamed the alcohol. Before she left he gave her a hug though. She was surprised by it and pushed him away like she would with any unexpected touch from him. He'd said something and she'd gotten on the train.

"No, never mind E. Seriously, I overreacted. I'm just glad you're back," He was lying. There was no happiness in his eyes. It was like watching him talk to tributes from the outer districts at the end of the introductions. The smile stayed on spotless, but the eyes died somewhere between 10 and 11. She felt worth less than the tiny blob of black soot, rubbed of on her suitcase in district 12. There was silence for a bit, then Caesar ordered some food for dinner. They didn't have long until the games would start again. Effie usually could lie low at this time of the year, because, well, she'd never had a Victory tour before. She was stressed and she suspected this was why Caesar didn't want to talk to her about this.

"I'm more sorry than you can imagine. I … I haven't been myself lately," Effie said to him as they were falling asleep. He didn't hear it though. She stared at him for a while, before she touched his skin. Without the layer of make-up it was coarse and spotted. He looked so much older in this light. He _was_ old. Almost twice as old as her, but nowhere near an age to die.

* * *

"Effie, what is this?" Caesar asked and as she turned around with the straw from her drink in her mouth, her heart fell to the bottom of her stomach. She had been very careful to not bring any of the important papers with her home, but when he showed up in the training centre, it was hard to keep everything hidden.

"_Don't _mess with my stuff, C," she said sharply and ripped the paper from his hand. It was a letter from Plutarch. A very confidential letter. She'd been tasked with organizing a large part of how they got from 12 to 13. The letter she was now holding

"But what is it? It makes no sense,"

"Not to people it doesn't concern,"

"Is there something I should know about?"

"No," she said coldly.

"I thought we'd talked that through, secrets are not going to get us anywhere," He referenced a fight they'd had the night before she left to reap for the Quell. A few years ago she'd _dreamt _of escorting for a Quell, excited to see what would happen, what it would be like, if it was bigger and better. Now she just waited eagerly for new missions from Plutarch or Haymitch. This game wasn't going to be played for very long.

"Trust me, C. If you knew …"

"Tell me! Just tell me now, I can't _deal_ with anymore of your shit, E," he yelled with sudden anger.

"Then go home,"

"What does _Ten pm. Bring Haymitch and the plans, _signed_ P. _mean,_" _Caesar insisted.

"Caesar, if I could tell you, I would,"

"What stops you?"

"Confidentiality,"

"E, you're not going to stand there and lie to me, like that," he said his yelling changing to a low whisper.

"Caesar, you shouldn't – listen, it's for the good of me, alright. There's going to be some changes and I'm not going to survive if I don't do what I do, so just … trust me," she said desperately and for the first time ever she saw him lose everything in front of her. He screamed at her, yelled nasty words and seemed to have to bond himself not to hit her. He'd been mad at her before, but never like this. He didn't calm down until his body forced him to and he actually screamed until he fainted. She was crying. Every word he told her was true. She _was_ a liar, a whore, a slut, a bad wife, everything he could even think about calling her. Hearing it from him hurt more than hearing it from anybody else, since he was usually the one to also kiss her and call her beautiful. And when he said something to her, he meant it. He didn't lie much. Not in private.

She called a few servants to help her and explained he'd fainted. She left with the emergency vehicle they called and stayed with him at the hospital until he woke up and immediately asked her to leave. For some reason she didn't think she'd ever see him again.

* * *

"I heard you, we all did," Haymitch replied to her, when she told him about the episode.

"I'm sorry,"

"You shouldn't leave notes like that,"

"If you're going to yell at me too, then pour me a drink," Effie sighed.

"Nah, think you've been through enough today,"

"Why are you suddenly nice to me?"

"Because I know when you've had enough," Haymitch mumbled and watched her blush in front of him.

"Don't pity me, Haymitch, I'm a big girl, I can take it," she said.

"Nah, you can't," he said "though you _did_ make Caesar Flickerman faint, which is quite hilarious," He laughed. Probably wishing he'd be there to see it.

"It's not hilarious, he's dying," Effie said grimly, but couldn't keep her smile hidden. From another perspective this thing was blown so much out of proportion, it was almost comical.

"Well, just pulls it closer, doesn't it? If he's sick he'll die eventually,"

"Not if he hadn't given up,"

"That's not your fault, sweetheart,"

"I know, we should get to that meeting," Effie said and gently touched his arm. It wasn't more than a friendly gesture, natural even, between acquaintances, but he froze completely, not even breathing for something that seemed like an eternity.

"Don't. Do that," he stuttered and got up from the couch, instantly aiming for the bottle on the table to drown out whatever memories her touch just had awakened.

* * *

"No, you're staying right here," Caesar yelled at her. He didn't refrain from squeezing her arm to the point of bruising, holding her back. Haymitch had stopped in the doorway, but Effie just wanted him to run.

"You've been in on this – this _thing –_ the whole time?"

"What are you waiting for Haymitch? Just run, you stupid idiot!" Effie cried, while ignoring every question Caesar could ever ask her. It was obvious she was part of this. The mentor didn't take long to follow her words when he heard the peacekeepers coming.

"I can explain Caesar, I …" His grip on her arm was replaced by a smooth leather glove and she felt two pieces of cold metal being pressed against her neck, before the shock knocked her out.

* * *

She woke up in a white room. She'd seen it before, but she didn't remember when, though she was pretty sure she'd never been here. Her memory of the room seemed to be more like a video from the surveillance camera hanging silently in the corner with the lens turned towards her, watching her every move.

"Awake," a well-known voice asked her. She felt a gush of relief when she realized who it was. One of the head peace keepers, one of Caesar's close friends. But as he came closer, there was not much _friend _about him. It seemed he was wiped of emotion towards her.

"I have to ask you a few questions," he said and pulled a piece of paper from a folder, he'd been holding.

"Am I arrested?"

"Not yet, do I have a reason to?"

"Can I go?"

"That wouldn't be wise, Mrs Flickerman,"

"But can I?"

"Theoretically yes,"

"Ask me the questions," Effie could feel she'd started shaking. Caesar had held her back here. She had no idea whether the others had made it. She hoped for them.

"Alright," He cleared his throat, "Formalities first: You are Euphemia Flickerman, maiden name Hansson, also formerly known under the alias Effie Trinket?" he asked.

"Yes," Effie couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed as he sketched up her life story and all she did was answer yes or no to questions about herself. He spoke nothing of the rebellion until much later. _A few_ questions seemed to have been an understatement.

"What role did you have in the events, that happened at the arena today?" What was she supposed to reply? She stood with the same options as the time Plutarch and Haymitch had told her about the rebellion in the first place. She could tell them everything and maybe only be sentenced to live the rest of her life as an avox or she could tell them nothing and … Well, she hadn't the imagination to picture what would happen if she had nothing to tell them. Then again she could lie. It seemed like the obvious choice.

"I merely watched it on TV, I had no idea such a thing would happen," she tried to sound hurt and confused, like she had no idea why she was here, but she barely had time to change her facial expression before he hit her the first time. She was more surprised than in actual pain and it seemed that was his intention. The punch was in her shoulder and though it hurt, the pain didn't last very long.

"That was a warning, Flickerman," he said "Don't lie to me,"

"My role was unimportant," She only realized what she'd chosen for herself, when she found herself bracing for another hit, as she spoke. She couldn't tell on anyone. She knew stuff meant only for rebel ears and she'd be damned before she spoke of it.

"And Haymitch Abernathy, your little district boyfriend, what'd he do?" The questions were no longer scripted.

"Why don't you ask him?"

"He's not conscious," The way the peace keeper said this made her think twice. He could be filling her with lies, just as much as she was trying to manipulate him. She remembered where she'd seen the room before. Haymitch. She'd been too curios not to watch the interrogations of him after his victory. Back when the Capitol still trusted her with sensitive files, back when she actually had an education.

* * *

Caesar touched her bruised cheek and sighed. The price for not cooperating was harsher than she'd initially thought, but at least they'd let her see Caesar.

"Why?"

"I'm not going to talk, Caesar,"

"I'm not here to get you to talk. I'm here because… Because I still care about you and I don't want to see you executed," Caesar said looking down, while his hand took hers. She hadn't left the room since she'd been placed here and she felt disgustingly dirty, though it had only been a few days.

He let out yet another sigh.

"I guess you got the power to do something exceptionally stupid, E,"

"I didn't do it for him, C,"

"No? Then why?"

"I said I wasn't going to talk, do you think this is for fun?" She pointed to her bruises with her free hand.

"They're trying to scare you, so you give them what they want, look… I'll talk to some people, give some envelopes to the right ones too," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her gently. She couldn't believe it. Even after all she'd dragged him through Caesar still felt some sort of obligation towards keeping her alive. But even she knew his money couldn't make much of a difference here.

"Don't bother, Caesar, seriously. I know what they're accusing me off, and I'll admit to everything, so…" Effie said. Her plan for the interrogations was to confess to everything they charged her with and hope for them to stop asking questions. Hope for them to stop controlling her sleep and hitting her. She hadn't been allowed to sleep properly since she got here and though she was used to not sleeping a lot during the games, where she could sometimes sit up as long as 3 days without even wishing for a calm moment, she was exhausted to the brink of a mental breakdown.

"They're going to hang you up, dangling next to Seneca Crane, E,"

"Then let them,"

"I never took you for such a passionate soul,"

"I'm really not," Guilty voice. Effie had never joined the rebellion if Haymitch hadn't said she'd most likely be dead if she didn't. It was ironic now, but that decision had terminally led to whatever sentence she would be given in a few days when they were done interrogating her.

She noticed her surroundings becoming cleaner and milder over the course of the next weeks. Still no sentence. She suspected Caesar's bank account to be behind this, though she wasn't one to complain. Every day she tried recollecting what they told her, what she knew. Peeta was here as well as Johanna. She'd heard Caesar interview Peeta. He wasn't allowed to visit often, but when Caesar came she remembered why she was still alive. She didn't like it, owing the man so much, when he was still working with what she now had to identify as _the other side_. Johanna. She knew because of the screams. It couldn't be any other than her, because Enobaria could take more and she knew how Katniss screamed. Besides Caesar and Peeta talked about Katniss. And Haymitch. They were in 13. They were safe for now.


	6. Chapter 6

"Listen, E. No, listen to me," Sometimes Caesar's money wasn't enough to keep the guards away from her. Some of them didn't need money. And it was like Effie's status was in limbo. They could do anything they wanted with her, and they did. Sometimes she couldn't walk, but she kept reminding herself of Johanna's screams. It could be worse.

"_Listen!_" Caesar repeated and her eyes flung open.

"What?"

"Get up, get decent, you're going away," he said in a desperate low whisper.

"What do you mean?" Effie asked confused and with a beginning panic.

"They're here, they're saving everybody," Just as he spoke a few peace keepers broke through the door, Effie looked at Caesar for a moment and in a split-second he surprised her more than any guard could ever do. He pulled out a gun. Not one of the peace keeper guns with their clean, streamlined look, but something looking like an antique. It worked though, she realized when the first peace keeper fell to the floor with a bullet in his leg.

"Effie, go, damnit!" Caesar yelled and pushed her forward, while he planted a bullet in the other peace keepers arm. She almost slipped in the blood from the leg wound on the first one and her frightened, still exhausted body really couldn't run as he wanted her to. Only then a face appeared in the doorway. Haymitch.

"You coming princess?" he asked with his usual smirk.

"Go, Effie," Caesar said with a hoarse voice and when she turned around she saw he'd paid a terrible price for this encounter. With all the shots fired over her head, she never realized that the guards had opened fire as well. Caesar sat in the bed, blood running from his mouth, with a hand cramped over his chest.

"No, Caesar!" she cried but he pushed her towards Haymitch with all the force he could muster in his free hand. Haymitch got the hint and took her arm with a gentle, but persistent grip, pulling her away from the dying man. Their eyes met in a final goodbye and time stood still, until some one was yelling loudly from the hall and everything broke. Caesar collapsed and the last thing Effie saw was him smiling the most genuinely smile she would ever see on that man's face. Peaceful, but painful.

* * *

She cried on Haymitch's shoulder almost the entire way to 12. Caesar letting her go was so surreal. Him giving up every single ounce of pride and helping her escape, though it probably meant his death. She could only hope, he'd be lucky enough to die from the wound and not the torture they'd surely sentence him to, if he survived. The mentor sat in silence, sometimes patting her back awkwardly. It made it all worse, but there wasn't much difference from worst to beyond worst, so she didn't mind. Someone brought her a glass of water and Haymitch made her drink it. Then a healer came and asked her about injuries. She knew she was injured and a slight pain between her legs confirmed it, but she didn't want to be pitied right now, so she shook her head. Soon after a beeping sound cut loudly through her half slumbering silence. She heard Haymitch say something. She heard him get angry, she heard him calming down. When he put the speaking device back into his pocket he looked at her and stroked her hair for a bit. Asked her to drink some more water. He was nothing but nice to her. She guessed he understood or maybe he just didn't want to be involved. Neither would surprise her.

* * *

He held her hand all the way to the quarantine room in the underground building. Coin had ordered all newly arrived Capitol citizens to be searched and checked for everything. Not that they expected to find anything, but better to be safe. Effie fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow in the isolated room, not even caring about being locked in.

"They searched you while you slept," Haymitch informed the next day. She sighed and sat up, staring at the white wall.

"Do you want to stay alone in a room here?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"You want to stay with someone?"

"No," she repeated.

"Princess, I don't want to sound heartless, but he's not coming back and we need you here,"

"I know, sorry Haymitch," she said slowly. It was physically hurtful for her to talk. Everything hurt. Her insides, her outsides. Everything.

"They said you were raped," Haymitch said to her.

"Yes,"

"Why didn't you tell the healer on the hovercraft?"

She shrugged. What was it to her? Nothing. She felt disgustingly idiotic after Caesar's sacrifice. Haymitch calling her _princess_ didn't help at all, for she had only just realized that, that was what she'd been acting as. She expected the men to like her. She expected Caesar to understand, though what she tried to make him find fair was the exact opposite of whatever he believed in the first place. She flinched when Haymitch touched her, but did she expect him to? Haymitch had been there even longer than Caesar. No matter what, there was a certain amount of respect, friendship – _relationship,_ between them. She _expected_ him to - well, _care. _

"You're certainly an odd one, Trinket," For once she didn't mind him using her old last name. Calling herself Flickerman would only add to the depression, she was currently sporting.

"Says you," said Effie hoarsely.

"Alone or together?"

"With you?" she asked.

"I guess, if you want to, there's an empty bed in my compartment,"

"Together then," she concluded taking her eyes of the wall to look at him.

"Alright princess," Haymitch smiled and patted her awkwardly on her head.

* * *

**Authors note: There will be an epilogue uploaded later today, hence the short chapter. I just really want the epilogue to stand alone because the story can be read without it :)**


	7. Chapter 7 Epilogue

It was amazing how they could preserve bodies. Caesar had been lying in a hospital morgue for most of the rebellion and nobody had cared to bury him. His face was perfect, if not a little pale around the edges of the fake tan and the permanent make-up on his closed eyelids made him look as if he was only sleeping. She knew he wasn't though. It had taken her a while to recognize him as being dead. As not being here anymore. She lived in 12 now, not knowing where else to go. With Haymitch, not knowing who else to live with. Caesar wouldn't have liked it, but he couldn't really object to anything and if Effie needed something it was company.

He didn't look like himself. Lying there, face cleansed of all dramatic make-up. She realized she'd never seen him entirely clean. The fake tan came off with a couple of washes and the skin underneath it was so pale even she, who had the porcelain look down to almost perfection looked dark in comparison. His hair now relieved for dyes and product was a dirty blonde colour, slightly greying up the sides. When the fake hair was removed he showed to be partly balding as well. He looked old. Older than she ever thought he was. Well, she knew how old he was, but he looked way older. Only his surgically enhanced face looked like him enough for her to recognize him. Whenever she had talked about surgery to fix something on her – bigger breasts had been her wish – he'd always stopped her, not even listening to what she had to say about her insecurities. She saw now what he meant about growing old as a doll. He'd only grown old in his mind and underneath all the fake. Some parts of him never got to grow old. There was only patches of the real man left in him, a man she with fright realized she'd barely known.

"You've done a good job, Effie," Haymitch said from behind her, walking up to the open casket. He must have seen the tears, but he didn't comment on them.

"A good job," she repeated not believing a word coming out of her mouth. He nodded. He was surprisingly sober for a man like him, coming back to the Capitol by his own free will, wearing a simple black suit fitting for a funeral. Fitting for the games, she thought, as she remembered buying it for him herself a long time ago. He looked better in it sober.

"Think about the new country you helped create. Think about how happy you made him,"

"I didn't make Caesar happy," she said desperately "if I did he wouldn't…"

"A war has its victims," Haymitch reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she shied away from him.

"He wasn't part of the war,"

"You look beautiful today, he would have loved that, wouldn't he?" Haymitch pointed out. He would. Effie did look great, with her blonde hair let down to her shoulders and very light, if not no make-up and the simplest black dress. She wanted to bury him as the woman, though it'd interfere with her reputation as 'the Capitol doll'. Nothing mattered anyway.

"You're being nice, because you think I'm pathetic," Effie said back to him, secretly putting his compliment onto the tiny list of nice things Haymitch uttered about her.

"I know what grief is,"

"I grieved over my husband a long time ago,"

"You don't stop, Effs," he said softly, "In a thousand years you'll still be thinking about them and there is nothing you can do because it's entirely your own fault they died and there's no way you can change it," It was pretty obvious he wasn't talking about her situation anymore.

"I need to go," he excused himself blinking away a few tears. She felt the urge to go with him, but couldn't. The silent backroom of the undertaker was like a prison where she was forced to face her time with the man who'd given up his life to ensure her safety. She inherited quite a large amount of money from him and of course all his belongings. The apartment. The fine art and unopened bottles of expensive wine, they should have shared when they grew old together. She gave them all to Haymitch. She had no idea what to do about the apartment, but since it was hers and not a very big monthly expense she decided to keep it, though no one lived there. The money … Well, she spent it on whatever. Didn't really do any investments. Not really sharing any of it with anyone – not an act on selfishness, but more so an act of uncertainty. It tasted like guilt having the riches and wealth from a man who had already given her so much.

Being alone in this artificially lit room, light shining down on her and the body didn't scare her as much as the fact that she could never see him again. After the funeral and the burial. When that casket was lowered into the ground and covered by dirt, after that she'd never see his face again, fake or not fake. She touched his hand, but the cold feeling of his dead skin resonated through her and she was quick to let go again, not able to contain whatever emotions roared inside her. In her mind Caesar woke up and touched _her_ to tell her goodbye, looking into her eyes with his brown eyes, once tinted blue. He always told her not to change her eyes, to lay off the lenses or injections, so after they settled she'd kept her eyes the way they were, but not stopping him from changing. From _hiding._

"You were scared, weren't you?" she asked him in a low whisper and slumped down in the chair, not very ladylike.

"You were scared they'd find out who you really were, C," she continued, actually finding it easier than expected to talk to him.

"And now they have, you have no reason to hide behind all of that… That crap anymore," she referred to the hairpieces, the pile of glittering clothes that lay in a plastic box next to him. She could take them home if she wanted to they weren't evidence anymore.

"I love you, C," she whispered barely getting the words across her lips from crying, "Goodbye,"


End file.
